


Yellow Nice to Meet You, Did You Know that You Just Blue My Mind

by dilapidatedcorvid



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Grief, spoilers: episode 69
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:58:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilapidatedcorvid/pseuds/dilapidatedcorvid
Summary: "Have you seen me? Who am I to judge?"So Yasha takes a good hard look at her. At the ways the light dances along her face and arms, the almost soft vulnerability she can barely see through the dark tinted goggles, at the light pink of her lips she has to hold herself back from running a thumb over."I've seen you." And then to the open air, "I've seen you a lot."Yasha and her reflections on colour.





	Yellow Nice to Meet You, Did You Know that You Just Blue My Mind

Brown. 

Gods, that's such a beautiful colour. 

Yasha sees brown and she never stops seeing it. Her eyes are a deep brown, darker than even chestnut, but light with laughter and a certain laissez-faire she could never manage on her own. Her skin is a rich brown too, stark contrast to the brilliant white of her teeth when she smiles and offers her hand to shake.

"Hi, my name is Zuala."

Yasha stutters then. "I'm Y-Orphanmaker."

Zuala laughs, and it's the most beautiful thing Yasha's ever heard. "Nice to meet you, Yourphanmaker."

Yasha's cheeks would then flush red and Zuala laugh even harder.

She's tall too. At least as tall, no, taller than Yasha. But not at all like Yasha. Where Yasha is a lanky, clumsy lumbering tower of muscle with two left feet, Zuala has a grace to her step Yasha could never even dream of owning, a clear awareness of her surroundings, and complete and utter control over her every muscle. So it shouldn't surprise her when Zuala sits on a branch overhead, and without even so much as a creak of wood, draws a massive bow and sends an arrow deftly through the trees to strike a rabbit through the head. Of course, that's not what Yasha's watching. She's staring at the rippling muscles left uncovered by Zuala's hunting vest, watches her back tighten and her forearm clench to the point Yasha can clearly see every cord and sinew from the forest floor.

Efficient, gracile, and just the slightest ethereal when even on her dismount into thick grass, there is barely a sound. 

"Yasha, pay attention." She teases, and Yasha's cheeks flush pink. Pink like the bit of tongue that shows when Zuala smiles at her like that, nose scrunched up in the cutest way possible. It's soft and sweet and the sole focus of every one of Yasha's heartbeats. 

Yasha holds out a bag she's brought with her, already filled with half a dozen other hares and small game, and Zuala adds in the final carcass.

"Let's go back, Yaya."

Yasha doesn't want to go back. Going back means being Orphanmaker again, not Yasha, and certainly not Yaya. Going back means looking at people across the firepit it to see humorless eyes staring back as they eat, the red of the flame barely catching in the reflection. Going back means that the honey brown syrupy feeling she gets in her chest when she's around Zuala will have to wait.

"Okay."

Zuala smiles down at her softly and pulls her in by the chin. "Don't frown. We'll be back out here tomorrow."

"The day is too long without you."

"I'm never far."

Yasha's world explodes with colour when Zu kisses her. It's like the reds have turned into fireworks, yellows to beautiful loud brass, greens to the softest cloth she's touched, blue to the chorus of a thousand voices, all singing a glorious symphony to their love.

And just like that, she's back in the forest again, breathing in the scent of her love, looking into eyes of the most beautiful brown she's seen in her entire life.  
Not the brown of the wretched soil underfoot, not the brown of the rabbit pelt in her bag. Brown that holds life and the promise it holds.

"Okay," Yasha breathes, "lets go back."

Years later when she's with the circus, she'll wake up, sweating and screaming silently into the night, dreaming up flashes of the moments between the worst night of her life and waking at the altar of the Stormlord. Never in colour. Only black and white. Maybe that's what hurts the most. That even in her deepest grief, she couldn't even see the colour of her wife's eyes.

She can't remember exactly what shade they are now. Just that any shade of brown she sees now doesn't quite match up, isn't exactly right.

She expects nothing more from this tavern than the hundred she's visited by now across the continent. Mollymauk is doing what he does best, and she stands by him to make sure no funny business occurs. The barmaid asking if she wants a drink is nice, but nothing out of the ordinary. The sword is certainly an upgrade too. There are fewer drunk or handsy men willing to make comments or grabs when she's carrying a massive blade on her back. 

But she really isn't expecting this. Her eyes flit across the table to take in its occupants and she's suddenly struck again as if one of Zuala's arrows had buried half its shaft in her chest.  
Brown skin. Not half as dark as Zuala's, a little closer to the leather of the bag she had brought hunting, but beautiful. Warm too, unlike the permanent scowl affixed to her face. And eyes so blue Yasha needs to swallow, even if there's nothing in her mouth yet. Gods, where is her drink?

"-and that there is Yasha."

"Yashaaaaa..."

She can't help the little smile that appears on her face before she schools her appearance back to nonchalant protectiveness. It's fine. What is a little colour to her?

And yet a few months after that when she's sitting against a few propped up bags, their campfire in the absolute dying minutes, the embers glowing the deepest orange Yasha's seen in nature, she can't help but stare at the colour it turns Beau's skin along her jaw where it reflects best, bright blue eyes shaded by goggles as they stare into the inky black night.

"Have you seen me? Who am I to judge?"

So Yasha takes a good hard look at her. At the ways the light dances along her face and arms, the almost soft vulnerability she can barely see through the dark tinted goggles, at the light pink of her lips she has to hold herself back from running a thumb over.

"I've seen you." And then to the open air, "I've seen you a lot."

It's strange. Red has always meant burning. Burning passion, burning fires, burning. But this time the burning doesn't bring red. 

Yasha feels herself shunted into a closed off corner in her mind, uselessly trying to struggle back out and take control of her body again, but whatever it is that's trapped her here is too powerful. Too much for her to overcome. And she just watches in horror as her body acts outside of her will, and begins to cut her friends down.

That's when she notices it. Her eyes are filled with tears, too much to see at first, but when it's Beau? When she's rubbed her eyes dry and her throat is sore from screaming? It's the first time she's seen the monk in black and white. And she collapses on her knees. Not again, not again.

Her friends flee, she sees them weep as the doors close, and all she sees is grey, grey, grey.

She closes her eyes, unwilling to see what she'll be made to do next, and tries to remember what shade of blue Beau's eyes are. 

And tries not to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Perfect Colour by SafetySuit
> 
> Discord: SweetBabyRae#0967  
> Tumblr: frumpkinspocketdimension


End file.
